


Sunday Morning

by mercurymoon7490195



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Cecil is about as subtle as a neon sign, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1336672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurymoon7490195/pseuds/mercurymoon7490195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil, it turned out, was not exactly the greatest at surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning

Cecil, it appeared, was a morning person. It seemed a little odd, as his radio show often went into all hours of the night, and he often seemed just as awake and perky then as he did at seven in the morning.

Then again, if that were the weirdest thing Carlos discovered, it probably meant that Night Vale was in for a very boring day.

Not that that existed, here in Night Vale.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Cecil stopped and swore under his breath, shoving the ingredients out of sight, quickly rearranging the appliances to conceal them.

"Cecil?" Carlos shuffled out into the kitchen, the name coming from his lips in a cross between a yawn and a groan. "You're up early."

"I'm always up this early," Cecil trilled, trying to casually block the counter space from view, but casually. "Have to catch up on as much news and gossip as I can, give the people a good radio show, you know?"

"With what, the imaginary news paper?" Carlos asked, raising an eyebrow. He glanced over blearily through his glasses, frowning. "What are you even doing over there?"

Just play it cool, Cecil, he thought frantically, leaning harder against the counter. "Reading the imaginary newspaper, my dear."

He turned around just in time to see Carlos' eyebrow disappear into his hair, perfectly mussed and sticking up in wild angles. His eyes wandered down to take in the sight of Carlos, HIS Carlos!, sitting at his kitchen table, wearing nothing but lopsided glasses and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, slightly rumpled as he crossed his legs under the table. Even if Cecil himself had appeared a year ago to tell himself that this was what he had to look forward to, he wouldn't have believed himself, never in a million years—

"Cecil!"

"Yes?" Cecil shook himself, blushing slightly.

"Coffee?" Carlos straightened his glasses, staring up at Cecil with a still-cocked eyebrow. "I was asking if you had a coffee maker."

"Yeah, it's over there on the counter." His heart flopped into his throat as Carlos stood, walking towards the incriminating mess. He skidded across the floor, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. "But, I mean, you better let me handle it, I mean, it's a temperamental old thing, hasn't been the same since, well, the incident, but it still makes a good brew, but I better make it if that's okay. Maybe you should even just go back upstairs, wait up there until it's, um, safe, you just never know, do you? " He cursed the words babbling from his lips as he tried to pull him away from the counter.

"What does it do, spray hot coffee from the spout at random intervals?"

"Exactly," Cecil answered quickly. "I've got it timed, you know, I know how it works. It's quite a spectacle actually, practically a dance, trying to dodge the coffee."

A small smile spread across Carlos' face. "I'd quite like to see that, actually, it sounds…fascinating."

"Not really, and besides, it's a…a secret. A secret dance. Known only to, er, radio broadcast personnel, by order of the sheriff's secret police. You know how they are about their need-to-know information, I'm sorry, you'll have to wait outside. Back in the bedroom should be safe enough, I'll let you know when I'm done." He almost had the scientist out of the room, just a few more steps… "You know what, why don't I come get you when I'm done? It'll just be safer that way, up in the bedroom. You can even go back to sleep for a little bit, if you want, it's not like the bus is leaving anytime soon."

Carlos stopped, wheeling Cecil around. "Okay, you can stop now. I can take a hint."

Cecil blinked. "A hint about what, dear Carlos? I don't know what you're—"

"If you don't want me to stay, you can just say it, you know. I don't want to get in your way."

Cecil paled. "You're not in my way," he said, licking dry lips. "And I want you to stay, really, I just need you to not be in, you know, this particular room at the moment. I just need a few more minutes, you know, to get the coffee."

"Cecil—"

"Carlos, please," Cecil gave him a tiny prod towards the bedroom. "Just go back to bed, please?"

He stared up at him for a moment, scrutinizing Cecil's face. Then he sighed, squeezing Cecil's hand reassuringly. "I'll go…if you just answer one question for me."

"Of course!"

A knowing smile spread wider across Carlos' face. "In the process of coffee making, where exactly do the eggs fit in?"

Cecil's eyes narrowed. "Secrets." He replied dryly. "The eggs are for secrets." He shooed him up the stairs, shaking his head. "Nosy scientists," he muttered, returning to the stove once he was sure Carlos was upstairs. "Breakfast is an art form, not a science."

About twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the bedroom door. Carlos smiled, lounging back on the pillows. "Do you want me to pretend to be surprised?" He called.

"No," Cecil replied defeatedly. "That'd just ruin it." He kicked open the door, which never quite shut all the way, a metal tray clutched tightly in his hands. He set it down carefully on the bed, perching on the edge with a sigh.

"To be fair, it's hard to escape the smell of omelet when the kitchen's right under the bedroom," Carlos said, laying his hand on Cecil's knee.

Cecil shrugged. "Well, I was going to make you pancakes, but they're surprisingly hard to make without any sort of wheat, byproduct or otherwise. And then I thought, cereal! Who doesn't like cereal? But nope, that's all gone too. Toast, of course, is out of the question….so I ended up with, well this." He nudged the omelet towards him, leaning back on his elbows. "I wasn't expecting you up this early on a Sunday."

"I don't have a day off from science," Carlos said bluntly, blowing on the cup of coffee. He paused for a moment, staring thoughtfully into the murky darkness of the mug. "Or rather, Night Vale doesn't give me a day off from science." He took a sip, letting the hot liquid wash over his tongue. "'S good coffee," he murmured with a smile. "Might be the best cup I've had since I got here."

"It's the coffee maker," Cecil insisted, tracing the rim of his own cup. "You may have to jump around a bit to catch all of the coffee actually in the cup, but it does its job pretty well." He sat quietly beside him as Carlos took a bite of omelet, resting his chin in his hands. "Sorry I couldn't make it a surprise…and it might not that good, I haven't made one in a really long time—"

"Cecil." The soft, smooth timbre of his voice as Carlos said his name sent a slight shiver up Cecil's spine.

"Hm?"

"It's wonderful." Carlos leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, setting the coffee cup back on the tray and pulling him closer. "You made me breakfast in bed, and I could count the times that's happened before without hands."

"Really?" Cecil gawked at him. "Never?"

"Well, once when I had the flu, but I couldn't actually hold anything down at that point, so I don't think it counts." He brushed his hair out of his face with a smile. "Thank you, by the way."

Cecil smiled, scooting over beside him. "You're welcome. By the way." Carlos snaked an arm around Cecil's waist, leaning against him as they finished off the omelets and coffee, lounging in bed on a slow Sunday morning. Resting his head on Carlos' shoulder, Cecil found the remote and flicked on the tv, just in time for the weather.


End file.
